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“What?” Esta asked, turning to him, but Harte’s focus was on Seshat, and especially on her power roiling and swelling within him.

They deserve to be destroyed, Seshat responded. Their hearts are rot and ash, unworthy of the wonders this world could be if magic lived free once more.

“It wasn’t the world that betrayed you,” Harte said.

Was it not?

“It was only one man,” Harte argued. “A weak man, at that.”

“Harte?” Esta’s voice broke through the fog that Seshat’s presence had created, and he realized that he’d been speaking aloud. She was trying to tell him something. “We have to go. Now. It’s our only chance.”

Seshat purred her encouragement, but Harte pressed her back, fighting against her power and the pull of her temptation.

“The second you use your affinity, every person wearing one of Jack’s medallions will know what’s happening,” Harte argued. “And we don’t have any idea if the machine is disabled.”

“If I use my affinity, no one will be able to catch us. We can slip in, get the Book, and be gone in a blink, before they even know what’s happening.”

But Harte could feel Seshat prowling inside of him, ready to pounce. “I can’t go with you.”

Esta glared at him. “We’ve been through this.”

“The Quellant is gone. We can’t risk what Seshat might do.” Esta was shaking her head, opening her mouth to argue, as she usually did, so Harte softened his voice. “If you’re right, if everything goes well, you’ll be back before I can even blink.”

“No, Harte…”

“I’ll be right here,” he promised. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jack was still droning on, but above them the ceiling of the arena was moving, the large panels drawing back as the mechanism moving them groaned and creaked. The crowd was entranced as the night sky appeared above them, and topping the roof was the tower. It was capped with a small platform, but there was no sign of North or Everett, no sign that the job they’d been sent to do had been done.

“You have to go,” Harte urged. “Jack has the Book, Esta. He’s right there, and it’s ripe for the picking. If we don’t take it now, we might never have another chance.”

She looked like she wanted to argue.

“We need the Ars Arcana, Esta. It’s our best chance of finding a way to stop Seshat without destroying you.”

Something in Esta’s expression eased a little.

“You have to go. Now. And remember, if something goes wrong—if it’s between getting the Book or coming back for me—you have to keep going.”

“I am not leaving you behind.” Esta lifted her chin and pressed her mouth against his. Her lips were firm, but Harte could feel her trembling, and in that moment it didn’t take Esta’s affinity to make time stand still, only the feel of her lips, warm and sweet and his.

Suddenly they were standing in a star-swept desert, the heat of the night brushing against them as a different heat built within. He heard a woman’s laugh, low and throaty, and he pulled away, gasping. Suddenly it wasn’t Esta in his arms, but another woman, one with hair braided like snakes, eyes ringed dark with kohl, and a hint of madness in her expression.

Then, all at once, the desert fell away and Esta was there, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed. “I heard Seshat,” she whispered. “Just now. I felt her.” She shuddered.

“We need the Book, Esta.” He grimaced as Seshat pressed against the boundary between them. “Go,” he told her as the ceiling above came to a grinding halt.

Finally, she nodded. Fear was stark in her eyes as she pulled away from him, and Harte had to clench his hands into fists at his sides to keep from reaching for her. But he’d barely blinked, and Esta was gone.

BRITTLE BONES

1920—Chicago

Time hung still and silent around Esta, and she hardly felt the tug of the Aether as she allowed herself a moment to look at Harte. Every emotion—surprise and desire and fear—were all mixed together in his storm-colored eyes. The memory of his kiss was still on her lips, but the echo of Seshat’s laughter rang in her ears.

Harte was right to urge her to do this without him. Esta knew that, and yet stepping away from him felt wrong. There was a part of her that worried that if she turned away now, he’d be gone. But she knew that fear was nothing more than the ghostly pain of a wound that had long since healed. Harte wasn’t going anywhere. He wouldn’t leave her behind again.

All around her, the arena had paused in a sultry silence, swamped with the humid heat of the summer night and caught in the net of her affinity. How long had Esta been nervous each time she’d reached for the seconds? Probably ever since they’d blown up a train leaving New York. Now, though, she felt the strength of her power, felt the way that Aether connected time and space, ordered the world.